Dark
by Snicker Puff
Summary: Collins goes home for the first time after Angel's death.


It was dark. Too dark, and too quiet. He walked slowly into the apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights, even though he could barely see. He felt like an intruder, like he was somewhere he shouldn't be. This wasn't his apartment. It couldn't be. He couldn't feel any of the warmth, the _life_ that had been here when…

Collins suddenly felt his entire body go cold, and he began to shake. He didn't know if he could face this, face the reality of what had happened. He'd thought he was ready, but now he wasn't so sure. Standing here, seeing everything that used to belong to him, to _them_. But there was no _them_ anymore, and the very thought of it brought a fresh wave of tears to his eyes, tears he thought he'd put behind him.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Collins moved farther into the apartment. As he looked around the small room, his eyes landed on the couch – the last place he and Angel had been together before… He swallowed hard, willing himself not to look down, but it was almost as if there was some force drawing his eyes to the floor; to the dress on the floor.

"_Hot," he moaned, eyes closed, body shaking with fever._

"_I know, baby, I know," he whispered back, folding and refolding the damp cloth to press against his forehead, trying to ease his fever._

"_Collins…" _

_Sweat mixed with his tears as they streamed down his face, and Collins could feel his heart break a little more as each one landed on his chest._

"_It's okay, baby," he cooed, fighting against his own tears, "You'll be okay. You'll be okay, Angel."_

_But he didn't know who he was trying to convince more._

"_Too hot!" he cried out, twisting in Collins' arms. Collins didn't know what to do; didn't know how to deal with this. Putting the cloth aside, he slid his hands down Angel's body, closing his eyes against the tears as he felt how hot his skin had become. He grasped the bottom of Angel's dress and carefully slipped it over his head, tossing it onto the floor and pulling him back against him. Anything to ease his pain even a little._

"_That better, baby?" he asked, voice hoarse._

The dress lay exactly where he had tossed it. Collins hadn't waited much longer before he had known he _had_ to get Angel to the hospital. He'd known it was no ordinary fever.

He hadn't been back to the apartment since.

Collins collapsed onto the floor, a choked sob spilling from him, unable to tear his eyes off his lover's dress. The last thing he'd ever…

Without thinking about what he was doing, Collins untied his shoes. He needed to take them off. Angel didn't like him wearing his shoes in the house. He had to take them off. Still, his gaze remained fixed on the dress as he tugged the shoes off, setting them aside. He sat like that for a long while, hugging his legs to his chest, just staring. Remembering. He barely even noticed the hot tears that streamed down his face.

"Angel," he murmured, voice sounding hollow in the empty room.

Slowly, Collins crawled over to the couch, sitting on the floor in front of it and leaning back against it. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the dress anymore; but even just knowing how close it was, was too much for him.

"_Too hot!"_

Angel's voice rang in his ear and he whimpered softly, opening his eyes to search for him. But the room was empty, just as it had been, and just as he knew in his heart it always would be. With shaking hands, Collins unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it off his body and letting it drop to the floor. It was too hot. Too hot!

"_Collins…" _

His body trembled as he tried to fight off the memories, even as his hands slid down his chest to his stomach, working at the fastenings of his pants. He slid them off smoothly, pushing them away from himself and curling into himself, rocking gently.

"_You'll be okay, Angel."_

"Angel," he whispered, "Angel. Angel. Angel."

Lifting his head, he looked over to the dress once more, so close to him. He could touch it, if he wanted to. It was so close. Angel's dress. Angel.

Inhaling sharply, Collins snatched the dress off the floor, pulling it to him and cradling it against his chest. It smelled of Angel. His sweet Angel. The material was soft against his cheek as he inhaled his familiar scent, shuddering as the full reality of life without Angel came crashing down around him.

"No," he breathed, burying his face in the dress.

He wanted him back. He wanted to hold him again, to touch him and to love him. To just be close to him. Anything. He needed him. Needed him so badly. He had never known he could hurt this much, or want something as much as he wanted Angel back.

Collins' mind swam with images of Angel, and he was unaware of his actions as he slowly slid Angel's dress over his legs. He looked down on it without really seeing it, and then stood, stiffly, pulling it over his hips and up over his chest. He slid the small, delicate straps over his forearms, and then stopped, suddenly realizing what he had done. His gaze dropped to the white, almost shimmering material, and he stared at it in awe, as if seeing it for the first time.

In a daze, Collins shuffled toward the bedroom, not looking ahead as he walked, for he knew the way so well. He looked only at the dress he was now wearing. He slid the straps higher up his arms, but they wouldn't go over his shoulders. He was too big. Not like his Angel. Not like his small, beautiful Angel.

A sound of anguish fell from him as he threw himself onto the bed, wrapping his arms tightly around his own body, as if it was Angel. He could smell him. The dress still smelled of him, and in his grieving mind, he believed he could touch him. His hands ran over his sides as he held himself, fingering the soft material, imagining it was his lover.

"_Don't leave me, Angel. Please!"_

He remembered the words he'd spoken, borne of an agony he didn't know was possible as Angel went limp in his arms. He'd known Angel couldn't hear him, but the words could not be kept back. He'd held them back while Angel struggled through his sickness, knowing that seeing Collins upset would only make him worse.

Now, he repeated those words again as he lay on their bed - h_is_ bed, now - clinging to his lover's dress as he sobbed.

"Don't leave me…"

But in his heart, Collins knew it was too late. His Angel was gone, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he believed he could touch him, he could never have him back.

He was gone.


End file.
